


Trial Run

by LustreGuts



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Anxiety, Body Dysphoria, Body Modification, Dirty Talk, Eventual Smut, Explicit Consent, F/M, One Night Stands, Revenant Being Revenant (Apex Legends), Robot/Human Relationships, Secret Relationship, Suicidal Ideation, enemies to ...... still enemies. but they cooperate long enough to Fuck and thats all that matters, i love that thats even a tag btw like... YEAH
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustreGuts/pseuds/LustreGuts
Summary: After nearly a whole season of being pestered by the resident synthetic nightmare, Rampart relents and decides to hear out what 'modifications' he wants from her.The answer manages to be both what she expected yet far more unusual than she anticipated, and Revenant's willing to pay generously to make it happen. It's going to be a challenging long-term project, and one she'll be keeping private for the good of her and her business' reputation, but she's interested enough to agree to it. The longer her work goes on, however, the more difficult it becomes to keep her own curiosity under control - it's not often that her products can talk back to her, and Revenant is a bad influence even when on his best behaviour. With the end of her debut season fast approaching, Ramya Parekh is about to make some discoveries not only about the simulacrum, but also herself.Or maybe she'll just do the work she's getting paid for and leave it at that. Either way, it's gonna be one hell of a job to remember.
Relationships: Rampart | Ramya Parekh/Revenant (Apex Legends)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Trial Run

**Author's Note:**

> This is two seasons too late and the voiceline interactions dont play anymore but you know what. who even cares. time is a flat circle, love for evil robots is eternal, and im still sad that Rams got overshadowed during her own debut :(
> 
> Unfortunately(?) what originally started as a Horny Project spiralled out into something much bigger and more elaborate, so come back in another couple a months if you only want to skip to the Naughty Chapter. Set mid to late season 6 but I'm generous with the comics timeline and non-canon gameplay elements. Let's just assume that there were a few spare months in-between Mirage n Rampart meeting Ash and the part where Mirage ships Rampart's entire workshop to Olympus, im here to be slow-burn slutty not lore accurate lol.

In. And then out. Slower, slowly, in, and then out, and again. She knows that she's got this.

She holds the button down, until the light of her phone screen blinks out - the last thing she needs tonight is some poorly timed tosser ringing her number to give her grief over a refund they don't deserve. Task done, she slips the phone into her trouser pocket, and meets the eyes of the woman staring at her from the Paradise Lounge's women's bathroom's mirror. Her first thought is, ' _bloody hell, no wonder Witt was going under, can't even replace the broken mirror in the only bog left in the whole bloody bar without being nagged to,_ ' but the second thought is to question if she's always looked this tired. Nothing screams sex appeal quite as well as looking exactly like the all-nighters she's been pulling this past week to meet her deadlines. She takes in a deeper breath, she's supposed to be conscious of it, and she chews her flavourless gum as she holds it, and exhales. Maybe she should go easier up on poor Witt, he's got a lot on his plate and nobody likes a hypocrite. Plonker's got a good heart buried somewhere - probably lost somewhere deep underneath his prized collection of his own merchandise.

Alright, alright, _now_ she's done picking on Witt. She lets out a last snort of laughter as she neatens out her hair, tucks the stray strands behind her ears, adjusts the hair tie and then pulls it out, considers what she sees in the reflection and then ties her ponytail back up. Leaving her hair loose comes across too strong too soon, and she can just let it down in the moment if she changes her mind. She's restless. It's gonna be fun! She's not a jittery kid running around and getting into scrapes over pocket change, she's been in control for years now, so there's no need to start getting antsy now of all times, not when her business is about the ride the biggest upswing she could dream of. She's worked hard so now she gets to party hard, that's how life works, even if it'll still kick you in the bollocks when (and not 'if') it feels like it. She hitches a thumb underneath the bottom of her crop top, tugs it up to flash her sports bra to herself and yeah, maybe a sports bra isn't most blokes' pick for the Outlands' sexiest piece of lingerie, but that move right there? Matched with that confidence? Alongside that lively grin with the teasing hint of teeth and tongue that she watches spread across her own face? That's a killer combination any lad lucky enough to see it would go wild for. She's got this! 

Besides, this was all her idea, to take it to this level. It would take a complete idiot to botch everything now, after being the one who asked for it in the first place. If anything, he should be grateful to her! She shouldn't even care whether she's sexy because she tolerates him at best, never mind any question of loving him. Still, she shouldn't keep him waiting. Not because she cares about him being bored, but because she dreads to think what mess he'll make of her workshop without her keeping an eye on him, the surly good-for-nothing wretch. She sighs, spits her gum out into the bin nestled underneath the sink, and laughs. Now this was perhaps the rarest thing of all to have ever been produced by Rampart, a true one-of-a-kind: a bad idea! Hahaha. She'll have to remember that joke for when there's someone worth telling it to. Her thoughts still race a mile a minute during the short walk from the former ladies restroom, now unisex, to the former gents restroom, now proud home to the Rampart Mods workshop. She's still laughing, because crikey she's actually living all of this, been living it for months by now and she still can't believe in any of it. And she knows it's all supposed to stay dead secret, and she certainly intends to keep it a secret for as long as it needs to stay one, but it delights her to imagine telling the wild story of what she's about to do to future friends, future lovers, future whoever will listen for all she cares to fantasise about. Her hand waits against the door, but she should just go in already. She wanted this, and it's going to be fun, and even if it ends up being the worst shag of her life it'll be over fast and the novelty alone will be bloody well worth it.

Breath in, out, smile and believe it, relax and enjoy it. She enters.

* * *

_You are the Apex Champions._

Rampart cracks a smirk when she hears that. 'Champions.' Implying her teammates had done anything more useful than crawl around like worms in the dirt all game. No matter, now she doesn't have to share her glory this game with anyone except Sheila. The air is burning hot but the last enemy is down and out cold - a natural consequence of having a mountable machinegun smashed with full force into your face. That doesn't stop her from planting a kiss of her own onto sweet Sheila before holstering her and looking around the battlefield. She's brimming with energy, the thrill of the fight blending with the joy of victory, and it won't be until later she winds down into the relief of safety or the calmer satisfaction of a job well done. It's better to ride it out than rush through it, and she's practically skipping as she searches for a sign of her remaining teammate; poor Paquette went down leagues away, taken out before they were even Top 5 while they scrambled through the Marketplace, leaving only the other plonker for her to babysit. "Oi, mate, you still alive around here?" She calls out.

There's a low groan, a voice somewhere in the breeze around her. "I'm alive, or at least I hope I am. I'm here... He-, over here! Yeah, close-no, not there. Here."

It takes a long moment, made all the more absurd because they're in the middle of an empty desert filled with sand and more sand, but she does eventually spot him once he manages to deactivate his cloak with a familiar blue shimmer. "Ay! There you are!" Rampart exclaims as she struts over, checking her pockets for a medkit she doesn't have. "Took you long enough. Suspect you should've done that a lot earlier though." She plants a hand on her hip and cocks her head down at the curled up heap of a man now in front of her, bursting a bubble of gum and popping it back in her mouth before shrugging her shoulders. "Eh, or maybe I'm missing something and I just can't appreciate the Mirage magic at hand, but being an invisible corpse seems a lot less useful than going invisible _before_ some sniper sod takes a couple cracks at ya."

Mirage is in bad shape, barely able to keep himself up on hands and knees, but he's still got the spirit. Or he's still able to fake it. Rampart doesn't care which one it is, since faking it is half way there to the real thing. "Aha, it's, it's uh, it's. It's a sophisis-sophist-tihtate, it's a sofysic- an advanced technique! Waaaaaay out the ballpark of the common rookie, so please don't feel embarrassed if it's, no-uh-not, easy level."

"Hey, ain't nothing common about this rookie! I got us the win, didn't I?" She leans over his hunched form and crosses her arms. It isn't often she gets to tower someone, and she relishes the righteous opportunity. "And now I reckon you owe me something good, making me take down two three-mans by myself!"

"Y-yeah, uh, yeah. Sure do. Not like they did all the hard work for you to sweep in and clean up afterwards or anything, but yeah, I'll... I'll think of something, when I'm stuck back together. It's hard to think properly like... well, like this." He explains with gritted teeth. Mirage slumps forward into the sandy ground with as much grace as an exhausted and mortally wounded man can manage, and with some exertion rolls himself over onto his side, staring up at her and shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of Solace's sun.

Rampart isn't facing the sun but ends up shielding her own eyes too with a displeased grimace. "Oh, blimey. Bloody hell, Witt. Actually, maybe you did have a point keeping your cadaver hidden out of sight, you look awful." She had been ready to argue, point out how she had managed to save herself and hide when the holographic trickster whose cloaking technology could render him _borderline invisible_ hadn't managed to slip out of harms crosshairs, but changed her tune after getting a look at the glistening hole going through him. "Yeaaah, maybe don't look yourself, but your insides are trying to turn into outsides. It's.... eughh, ick. Hmm. Very questionable fashion choice there Witt, I gotta say." Her voice cracks, and she giggles as she can feel her own stomach turning at being able to see Mirage's own - or at least, that's what she assumes that one specific organ is before looking away. A comfortable distance away from them lay the many indistinct bodies and death boxes across the sandy open plains.

He groans at hearing that, and gives his own queasy chuckle. "Rampart, can you stay here until the medics pick me up?" Mirage finishing flopping over onto his back after asking this, and he lowers his hand with a sigh as Rampart's shadow moves to block out the sun for him. It's gonna take far more than an adrenaline shot in a syringe to get him back up, and somehow Rampart doubts Mirage wants to be her first DIY surgery volunteer. His hair is damp with sweat, clinging to his skin, yet he manages a wide grin when he quips, "I'll start checking myself out if I get bored lying around. You mind keeping me busy, Ms. Champion?"

She's got nowhere better to be so she plonks herself down beside him, still laughing. They joke, and wait. They don't have to spend too long killing time; once the game is won the Syndicate responds quickly, diving in to collect anyone fit to fight another day, reassemble and resuscitate anyone who can still be respawned. Afterwards, they'll begin mopping up whatever messes are no longer viable for the first two options, and some poor plonkers who watched their loved one lose their last fight get to start planning the funeral. Luckily Mirage is still more solid than liquid, so not only do they not have to worry about cancelling tonight's party celebrations but it's only a matter of minutes until doctors are crowding around to stitch Mirage closed up enough to transport him to the Syndicate's medical bay, where they'll be able to fix him up fully. Ramya hitches a ride with him, and they keep up the shallow banter in-between the medical inquiries until Elliot is wheeled in for his serving of surgery. An intern asks Ramya a few questions, goes over the routine basics, but blossoming bruises and an easily dressed cut to the shin aren't any cause for concern, so with a pack of painkillers she's sent on her way... to stand around waiting outside for Elliot. Not only were they ridesharing today, but they still need to go over their plans for the party at the Paradise Lounge later that evening, to celebrate their ( _her_ ) success in the arena.

But having to wait for Witt doesn't mean she's going to stand around wasting her downtime. She wanders the waiting rooms in search of Wattson, whose usually the type to hang around after a match for her teammates and friends, but there's no sign of the electrician this time. Dropping Sheila off at the dropship site is a relief after carrying that weight for hours, as much as Ramya loves her pride and joy, and doesn't manage to conveniently bump into anyone worth chatting with on the way, so she gives up on socialisation for now and veers away from the more populated areas of the base, to a small corridor she's spent a few afternoons lurking in now. Not only is it a quiet area away from the bustle of crowds and passer-by's, but there's a cosy spot with a vending machine and rubbish bin that makes for the perfect place to take phone calls and clear through her voicemail inbox.

Filtering through the messages ends up being a quick ordeal today. It's all spam, swindlers, and dithering time-wasting gits who wouldn't be worthwhile customers. The light workload is a relief in it's own way, a light task to breeze though as she deletes all the voicemails received after a dreadfully long stint in the Kings Canyon arena, but Ramya can't be grateful for it. Less jobs means less income, and while she's happy to be more than a pile of ash and char, she still needs to get her business back up to full speed. She stops leaning against the wall long enough to buy a drink from the vending machine, and then returns to that same spot, sinking down against the wall and sipping the sugary swill. Everything's going to be fine. She just needs to give the public time to watch the games and catch up with the broadcasts - once they've seen her in action, she's certain to get a boom in demand, just like back in the gauntlet, and her business will be better than ever! Once the season ends she'll also get her winnings from the Apex games themselves, so she's set to be raking in a fortune in the near future! Still, as much as that thought makes her smile, she's going to need money a lot sooner to tide her over in the present, if she wants her business to last long enough to reap those rewards...

She sighs. She hears a rasping noise, faint, and it didn't come from her. Her eyes snap open, otherwise she avoids making a sudden movement. The rustle of footsteps on linoleum flooring, on her left, approaching at a steady pace. She was alone moments ago, or at least she's pretty sure she was, but she looks over and a tall shadow strides through the corridor, red and white coming quick into view. He's looking straight at her.

Revenant. Or... 'The Revenant'? Ramya has no idea which is correct, nor does she particularly care. She's already heard far more than she cared to hear about him, and not in the hushed whispers of terror he craves, but from Anita's pissed and pissed off rantings. Ramya's heard a lively history of his misdeeds over the past months, starting with when he killed a cocky creep Anita wanted to take down herself and going up to the present, with Anita's now being roped into Loba's web of contradictory goals. Unfortunately that's as deep as her understanding of the current drama goes, Anita being too respectful of Loba's baggage to spill the full gossip, and that's fine by Ramya. It doesn't take a history with Revenant to hate being around him; the simulacrum makes up for being an absentee teammate by being a strong contender for one of the most annoying and relentless bastards she's ever had the displeasure of being approached by, and not for lack of competition.

"I'm hearing none of it from the likes of you today, so don't even start." She warns him as he stalks towards her with overt intent.

"I didn't even say anything." His voice is low synthesized rumble, and he does a good impression of someone taken aback by a wrongful accusation. Coming to a stop directly in front of her, he cranes his neck to stare down at her with piercing eyes. "But now that we're already talking..."

She takes a loud slurp from her can of fizzy drink. "Never even saw you once in the ring today, so step your game up if you wanna be worth the Champion's time, mm'kay?" She downs the last of it, takes aim and tosses the empty can, watching it sail past the simulacrum's head and crash into the bin behind him with a clatter - she doesn't need to prove anything to him, or any other plonker for that matter. She remains seated on the floor as she already had been before this interruption, and can only hope he'll grow bored and move on quickly. "Between being the best fighter the games has ever seen and being the best modder the outlands has ever seen, I've got better things to do than deal with your crap. "

"Champion, huh? You think a title matters to me at all? You weren't even kill leader, not like that would mean anything either." Revenant says. He doesn't move, but the way he stares at her, unrelenting, reminds her of a predator about to pounce. "You've got a big head for a job thousands of other skinbags could do, wrench girl. They just don't have a marketable logo like you do to get attention."

She's not afraid, and matches his unflinching, piercing stare. "You seriously implying there's anyone even half as good at modding as I am?" She scoffs at the thought of that just as much as she does at his attempt to belittle her. His words would carry more weight if his past actions lined up with them. "You should introduce us, so I can knock 'em straight down and prove nothing measures up to a Rampart."

"What can I say, I have no way of knowing if you're actually any good at modding since you _won't answer me_." He drops down into a crouch, his skeletal face with that hateful glare a hair's breadth from her own as his voice dips into a guttural growl, "Got a lot of nerve to think you can look down on me, skinbag. I've been more patient than you can possibly imagine - I ought to split you open right here, start pulling all those nerves of steel out of your flesh, until you can't even think clear enough to regret it."

Ramya cocks an eyebrow at that threat; the nerves thing could have been cute, but she's heard better, more concise threats. "Perhaps the problem's that you just ain't worth talking to, mate. You consider that?" She sneers in his face. "So if you're getting your knickers twisted cause I won't talk to you, stop trying to talk to me and the problem will solve itself! Sure is amazing how common sense works out like that." She reaches into her coat, the side of her hand brushing past the comfort of a concealed quickdraw Wingman as she fishes out a pack of gum, not taking her eyes off the simulacrum as she works the foil open with the one hand.

His eyes dart down at the deft movement of her fingers, a moment of caution, before coming back up to look her in the face. "You think you're something special, skinbag? Do you really think you're alive for any other reason than because _I_ want something from you?" He hisses, "If you had nothing worth offering me I would have killed you the first day you set foot in the arena, torn you limb from limb and strung your guts around your turret like tinsel. Maybe I'll go ahead and do it next game, if you're going to keep ignoring me." 

"Nah, I don't think I'm special. I know I am." A crooked grin spreads across her face, even as she narrows her eyes in annoyance. "But alright, fine. You got a one track mind? Let's put that to rest with a little game!" She throws her hands up in a play of exasperation. "You tell me what kind of mods you've dreamt up, that you've been banging on and on and on 'n _on_ about, and I'll tell you why it's a crap idea and I won't do it, and then you quit hassling me every time I'm unfortunate enough to share a squad with your sorry mug." She pops the fresh wad of gum into her mouth, then asks him with fake sugary cheer as she starts to chew, "Does that sound all well 'n dandy, mate?"

"Hmph." Against all odds Revenant only sounds even more annoyed to have gotten what he wanted instead of being grateful like he ought to be. "There's some modifications I want. For myself. I've seen-"

"Oh, the robot wants his body modded? Well that's a shocker I gotta say-"

"Don't interrupt me." He snaps at her, and then continues as if uninterrupted. "I've seen your work, even looted some of it off of your other customers in the arena, not to mention that turret of yours. You've got an impressive range, wrench girl. I doubt you've ever touched a simulacrum before, but -"

"This is bloody Octane all over again, expecting me to turn you into a walking multitool," she grumbles. "Well I ain't sticking any guns or knives inside your limbs, or anyone else's for that matter. Never had a good experience with the kind of customer who wants a weaponised prosthetic, and I'm not repeating that mistake with _you_ of all shifty buggers."

"I'm lethal enough, I don't need any skinsuit's help with that," Revenant objects once she is done, and then snarls, "And _don't interrupt me_. I-"

" _Mmghmrrr don't interrupt me, skinbag_ ," Ramya growls back under her breath, and she has no right to be surprised when he actually hears the mockery that slipped out of her mouth. Their eyes lock. Up this close to the simulacrum she can see the hateful gears turning in his head, physically manifested through the dilation and focusing of the lenses inside his fiery pupils. Hmm. She suspects that this was not the wisest move she's ever made, while she grinds the gum between her teeth with a renewed forcefulness. However, Ramya can't exactly un-speak her Revenant impression so she rolls on ahead, improvising a point to make as she states loudly, "sooooo, yeah. Whatever crap it is you want from me, get to the point and tell me now before I get up and leave. I don't have all day for you to dawdle." She scowls. "And, bloody hell mate, have you ever heard of this tiny little thing called, ooh, I don't know, _personal space!?"_ She thumps her fist against the metal plating of his chest and gives him a shove.

He doesn't budge. Revenant tilts his head to the side, making a theatrical show of it as he cranes his head to look down at her ungloved, flesh and blood hand against him, and then slowly and leisurely straightens his legs so he is on his feet again. The message is obvious: He's only backing up because _he_ wants to. As it is, he remains standing close, looming over her as he finally says, "I want an aesthetic overhaul." He then growls pointedly, "I also want to kill you after teaching you some manners. But the first thing I'm getting-"

"Teaching me manners before killing me sounds like an poor use of time-"

"But, _first_ ," He snarls over her, "and most important, you're going to change how I look. I want a complete cosmetic renovation."

She lets out a sigh as she works over what he's said in her head, She's done plenty of cosmetic work before, but usually in addition to the actual mods she specialises in. She dislikes the thought of making this sadistic monster any more of a menace, but a paint job in exchange for finally getting him out of her hair? That isn't a morally objectionable trade-off. Still, though, she can't look past the prospect of having to deal with _him_ , for more reasons than only his foul personality. "I mean... mate, I don't wanna be the judge of all things worthwhile in life, rather leave all that philosophy prattle to academic eggheads who get paid to sit around thinking about thinking all day," she says, blow a bubble with her gum as she pauses, trying to pick her next words with some tact, "but isn't it pointless for you to change your body? If I modded you, you'd just die and come back in a factory-fresh model, and it won't have mattered at all. Just time and money down the toilet for something temporary."

"Yeah, me getting modified is completely worthless." Revenant says, "unlike _you_ getting a body mod, because after you die you'll just keep all those pretty little piercings forever."

She also doesn't die nearly as regularly as he does, she's not a walking death wish in the games, but she can see the truth of his comparison. "Okay, yeah, I hear you on that. That's fair enough," she nods, "Hm, however, me getting my nose done won't have cost me even half of a fraction of a percentage of what the bills going to look like on a full-body remodelling for you. Bit of a difference between a double digit payment and a job that'll easily run you into the 100,000's at minimum."

"I have more than enough money. Last time I spent money was over 50 years ago, so I've got a lot of paper in the bank and nothing to burn it on."

"And the time investment? It's going to be a long job, and you can't exactly drop yourself off and then come pick yourself up once I'm done. A unique machine like yourself will take weeks of planning and prep, never mind the hours, possibly even days you'll spend an incomplete hunk of junk on my workbench once I actually start the modding process. You really want to wait for months to endure that for - again, I gotta remind ya - something that'll only last you short-term?"

There's a strange silence. "Time..." The word has a solemn weight to it. He seems to privately contemplate something, and he speaks to answer his own thoughts more than her question, "heh, there's enough of it. Could even say too much of it."

"...Okay, new rule for the terms and conditions," Ramya groans, "if you want me to gussy you up, you need to get yourself a therapist on the side. I am not spending the job listening to you spew that nihilist crap." God, he's going to be everything she could hate in a customer. Yet nonetheless, the more she thinks about it, about him, the less she can deny that her curiosity is piqued by the challenge being offered to her. The personality is obnoxious and unbearable, but the body it inhabits does have her attention. All those slick mechanisms that compose this autonomous killing machine would be a joy to tinker with - she's a lifelong kinaesthetic learner. She isn't ready to relent yet, she has more conditions he'll need to agree to follow, but she's starting to see how she could benefit from the job herself. "Also important: if we do this, we're gonna have to keep everything a la mode, cause my mates and your-, well, you don't _have_ any mates, but my mates and you aren't exactly on tip top terms. I'm not risking my social life to give you a makeover."

"Hmph." He grunts at her in response, like one of the beasts born in the same barn that he was.

"And that ain't even touching how bad associating with you would wreck my reputation. There's only no thing as bad publicity if you're a rich twat, and I've worked too hard on building the Rampart brand to tank it by being seen with you." She's dealt with criminal clientele before, been questioned by Gaean police forces more times than most plonkers have been over their entire lives, but Revenant is a unique and iconic form of evil. This discussion reminds her of their location, and she spares a couple of glances away from Revenant to check the empty hallways on either side of her for activity. "Speaking of secrecy, you should get moving soon, before someone walks this way. If we're going to chitchat, we'll do it privately. The Rampart business number is easy to find, so gimme a ring in a couple of days, and I'll decide whether I hate myself enough to tolerate your presence while I work with you, or... I guess, work _on_ you, technically... Mate, this is gonna be unbelievably weird. Are you sure you wanna go ahead with this?" She rushes to remind him, tilting her head up to look back at him, "if, and that's _if,_ I agree to do it, which I haven't yet."

He shifts restlessly, shoulder joints unhinging in their sockets and fingers flaring out into slender talons before pulling back together in an instant. "I'm getting it done, I don't care if you have a problem with it as long as you do your job," Revenant informs her. "The second thing I want is-"

"Excuse me, second thing!? I haven't even agreed to the first, don't get ahead of yourself." She blurts out, before backing down to hear him out - the sooner he says it, the sooner he'll stop talking. "Alright, whatever. What is it, if it ain't cosmetic or weaponry?"

Silence. He stares down at her. Naturally, it's only when she wants him to speak he finally learns how to keep his drivel to himself.

"Yeah, mate, I don't have all day, and mind-reading is one of the very few talents I haven't mastered yet. Out with it now."

Revenant bends down again, slower than before. The first time he crouched down was to dive into her personal space, an attempt at intimidation, but she can read the difference in how he kneels down now, getting close to her again but keeping some distance for his own boundaries. He's put himself in a defensive position, and he looks around to check they are still alone, and that of all actions is the first thing he's done to make Ramya feel concern; she can't even begin to imagine what _he_ , the proud brute he is, could possibly need to keep secret. "Listen very carefully to what I'm going to say, wrench girl," Slowly, he speaks in a hushed whisper, and his words are so quiet that the hissing crackle of his vocal processor seeps through like an undercurrent. "No questions about this. You do the job I pay you for, you never tell anyone, and you don't ask me a single question about it."

"I know what confidentiality and privacy are you stupid plonker, I've worked with gangs before." She smirks, and smacks her lips as she chews her gum. "So go on. Spit it out."

After a long, low rumble, which she could almost mistake for reluctance, Revenant speaks louder and sharply. "I want a penis."

He... what? Did he really just say that he wanted-

"NO. QUESTIONS."

Crap, Ramya didn't mean to actually say that aloud, although she's also certain that she _didn't_ say anything aloud. Maybe it's loud enough in the expression on her face. "Alright, no, you can't tell me I can't ask questions and then blurt that out!" She argues. "Mate you... I mean you... You don't have one? And you want one?" Her eyes drop down from his face to the loincloth he's wearing, something which she'd never cared to pay attention to before, until now when she's questioning it's entire purpose. "Well, I guess it's only natural if you don't have anything there, being a sim 'n all, but now you... want one? _You_ of all people want one?" An irritated growl draws her attention back up north, him watching her watch him with restrained but unhidden impatience. "Holy crap, and you aren't kidding me? You actually want a dick - that's what you've been bugging me for this whole time!?"

"No, I've wanted the cosmetic overhaul this entire time." There's fierce fury in Revenant's eyes as he barks back, indignant, "But while I'm getting modified I also want that as well-"

"And by 'that' you mean a _dick!?"_ The last word spills out as a shriek even as she covers her mouth, eyes going wide. "Sorry, sorry! I don't mean to be rude, mate, this is terrible of me! You have to admit though that this is... that it's... it's ri- _dick_ -ulous..." She can't finish, her breath staggered with muffled uncontrollable giggling.

Somehow Revenant is less amused than she is. "I'm over 300 years old, and I can count the number of people who have laughed in my face and lived longer than an hour afterwards on one hand." He drawls with a deliberate show of patience, idly flexing his long claws, "I suggest you keep that in mind, unless you want to find out why those people were the _unlucky_ ones."

"Alright l- ahaha, look, mate," another snort of amusement slips out even as she pulls herself away from full on laughter. "This is insane! You can clearly see that, right? But I won't tell anyone." She pauses to wipe the budding tears from her eyes, "And I won't, promise ya. Said as much myself earlier, I can't risk being publicly associated with you, so no way in frozen hell am I gonna spill your secret." She breaks down into another fit of giggling, "Your secret... heheh, your deep dark dick secre-"

"I know exactly where your little workshop is, and I'll visit it whenever I need to." He cuts in, pointedly, "or whenever I want to."

"Um, you care to repeat that mate?" She dips her hand back into her pocket, double checking that she put the packet of gum back in the right pocket, and that the Wingman is still accessible from her current seated position. "Because I sure don't remember agreeing to that."

"Then disagree with it. I don't care." He tells her, steepling his fingers together as he returns to his own track of thought. "I've seen my own blueprints and specifications. I don't have the... functional tool, in the final version of my model, but my creators oh so _generously_ left all of the vestigial wiring for one inside of me, integrated with the rest of my sensory processing systems. It should be simple for you to modify me to have one, since the groundwork is already laid out for you."

"Riiiiight, sure." She furrows her brows, blows a bubble of gum as she thinks his words over, and then answers, "even if that's true, I'll still have to look inside you myself to see if I can fix your penis problem, so-" She's snickering again, "I'm not- I'm trying not to laugh, okay? I'll take this seriously, so give me a ring tomorrow and we'll sort out the finer details of your cosmetic remodelling. At some point while I do that, I'll crack you open and examine your components personally, and then I'll tell you whether I can also give you your 'functional tool'." She watches his face for any sign that he's paying attention to what she's saying, but there's no emotion to be caught in his implacable skeletal faceplate, and the rest of his body language remains steely. Giving up on waiting, she prompts him, "And in return, along with paying me _very_ well, you stop pestering me whenever we're in the games together, you hear me?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"So... I think that's about it. We cool?" She smiles, chipper, and then immediately drops back into low exasperation when he lingers several more seconds too long. "As in, are we done now, mate? As in, will you take the hint now that we're _done_ today, unless you're trying to get us caught?"

He gives a grunt of acknowledgement, which she can only assume is affirmation. Revenant turns to walk away though he still watches her, giving a parting warning as he slinks off, "I'll kill you if you tell anyone."

She flips him off as he finally slips into the shadows and out of sight, and sags back against the wall, pinching the bridge of her nose. Well, crap. When she had hoped for something to occupy her time while waiting for Witt, this was far from what she'd wanted. But... on top of the fun of having a unique challenge to conquer, she hadn't been kidding when she'd told him it would be a very costly commission for him. While she was more than capable of affording the rent at Witt's place, it had still been a massive blow to her savings to have her shop go up in flames; salvaging Sheila had been a massive relief, but nearly all of her tools were reduced to scrap, with the most expensive specialist equipment being the worst damaged, and that wasn't even accounting for lost revenue from the jobs she'd missed out on while recuperating and relocating. So again, while the thought of voluntarily spending time around that robotic reprobate of all possible plonkers is unpleasant, she can't deny that the extra cash is perfectly timed - even if she's going to end up blowing plenty of it on the drinks she'll need to get through dealing with the customer in question.

Whatever, drinks, workshop, Paradise Lounge, Witt, she needs to move on to the rest of her day. She's the champion, she should be celebrating! Assuming the doctors didn't sedate him with the strong stuff he should be ready to leave the med bay soon, so after checking the time on her phone she stands and makes her way back to the waiting room. Wattson lights up when she sees Ramya, an uncommon but welcome treat, and Witt was mid-sentence before he exclaimed, "Hey, well speak of the devil!"

"Hah, Devil? _Me!?_ That really how you're gonna greet this squad's saving grace? You ungrateful plonker!" She complains with a grin as she waltzes over, slinging an arm around Witt's shoulders and pulling his head down to her height as she chuckles. "Anyway, Witt, did they tell you when they'll wanna get the wrap-up?"

"Yeah, they- hey, watch the hair! Be gentle, Ramps!" He pleads as she ruffles his hair, which she thinks is unreasonable of him because she _is_ being gentle - she hasn't got him in a full strength headlock for a proper noogie or anything so rough less than an hour after he got out of surgery. She isn't stupid or heartless. "But, yeah, they told me they wanna interview us in twenty. I was about to call and let you know, wherever you went." He tells her, "Nothing big this time, just a quick post-game chat. They're catching up with... I think it was Crypto's squad? Or... or maybe Gibraltar and Pathfinder, I don't remember which one but it was one of those two squads, since, well, you know, those five were involved in that giant super badass fight while you, like, hid the whole time until the end."

"Well glad to hear my victory was boring, Witt, thanks for putting me down like that," Ramya mutters, giving him a little warning tug around the neck with her arm and a rougher rub on the head with her knuckles. "Really appreciate it, mate. Instead of playing smart next game, I'll just drop down dead like you tried to, since you wanna tell me how to bloody win."

"Ah! Hey, alright, come on now!" Witt protests. His own hands grab hold of her arm and he tugs. "Like, yeah maybe it worked, but being a rat all game is not gonna get us the spotlight. Or, well, it did, but not like a _cool_ or _galmer-_ glamolrus, gam... _Glamorous_ one. An impressive one. Like a cool awesome spotlight with, you know, fame, fortune, all that good stuff we want?"

"Make yourself useful next time, and I'll try to care about your criticism," She counters as she rolls her eyes at his pathetic posturing, and then realises she's forgetting something. She turns, spinning Witt around for the ride as she exclaims, "Oh! Wattson! You gonna join us for the party?" She asks, hugging Witt closer to her. "Come on! Join us! Only fair that all three of us drink our winnings together!"

"Umm..." Wattson looks undecided, and uncomfortable to be there, running her hand up and down the sleeve of her jacket and looking off to the side. After a moment she speaks up, frowning and still not looking at Ramya or Witt, "Je viendrai aussi. Mirage was saying that it will be at the Paradise Lounge, oui?" Quieter, she gives her reasoning, "I like it there, and Lifeline said she will be there too. Wraith will probably also be there." 

"Ooh, Che, eh? Sick!" Releasing her hold on Witt, she stretches her arms high above her head, "Well, no point keeping the bigwigs waiting! Let's go smile for the cameras, get them and the fans proud and happy, then we can head home and start getting ready for the real celebration this evening!"

"Yeah, now you're talking!" Mirage agrees, fist pumping in the air as he follows her lead alongside Wattson.

Witt wasn't kidding when he said the Syndicate only wanted a brief interview with them, and they breezed in and out of the camera's sights faster than Ramya could believe. She _won,_ went in and got the job done - she was the only person who walked into the arena today and then walked out afterwards. This time, however, efficiency and practicality didn't make for prime-time television, so her team are promptly shuffled off-stage to make way for the second place squad and that's... fine. Appealing to every single possibly plonker who lays eyes on the games would just clog her inbox up with more crap to filter, and drown out the worthy customers she can make gold from. Witt fills in Wattson some more on their plans for the party as they board their ship, and Ramya joins in, and she hopes Blisk is proud of her win. She's the champion, not that a title matters to her at all.

She doesn't need to prove anything to anyone, and she knows her own worth. She just needs a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may be a lesbian, but i am in love with one (1) evil scifi murderman. i want to dropkick him down a flight of stairs SO bad ♥
> 
> but to be clear, while this will NOT!!!!!!! be a soft or secret-good-guy Revenant, the relationship(?) with Rampart will be fully consensual. Like yeah there's gonna be naaasty bloodsport violence and weird edgy dynamics and Rev Being Rev, (and possibly some other stuff I'll CW for in later chapters), but I don't want to write like.... abuse, especially not F/M. i dont know how to describe what i mean better so im just gonna hope that makes sense lol.
> 
> i love Rampart even more than Rev so she's gonna end up having a good time i promise!!!! I promise!!!!!!!!!


End file.
